The Devil's Barber
by Friendly Frat-Boy
Summary: Frederick von der Walt is a young, christian boy, raised by Mother Marie in the monastery she lived in after she found him in a clearing beside the corpses of a goat and a cat. After a certain incident occurs, Fred decides to leave the monastery to study to become a barber, where he meets Barbara, an aspiring nun, and Petthew Gondy. /Basically a crime fic with demon!Fred AU.


He was the result of an unholy matrimony of a goat and a cat, a creature that should neither have been conceived nor carried to term, much less actually allowed to live. And yet, when Sister Marie laid eyes on the poor thing, laying silent as the grave in the middle of a clearing, the stale bodies of a black cat and a wheaten goat laying by its side, she was unable to leave it be. She lied to father Henry, told him she found it on the porch of the orphanage downtown, and he allowed her to raise it as her own. She named him Frederick von Wald, and for seventeen grueling years, that is just what she did.

The child was a darling boy, who would never make a fuss, and would always do well to snuggle up in her long, auburn hair to fall asleep. The child never left the monastery wherein his mother lived, and would do his prayers every night, always wishing for prosperity to fall upon the both of them. He was quick to smile and had the wits needed to become a true scholar, but despite this, Fred, as he was called, insisted on becoming a barber. He had always felt an attraction to hair, and would often style his mother's hair, braid it, cut it, and just make sure it was nice and neat. Fred himself never thought more of it, and neither did his mother.

Fred had become a child of the monastery, beloved by all the nuns for either his studious devotion to God or his quiet nature. In this way, he was not raised by sister Marie alone, but instead by the sisterhood as a whole. And in the winding halls and corridors of the monastery and the nearby church, being a child of God is a necessity.

But every year, mysterious things would happen at the monastery. The nuns would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of giggling, and when they erupted into the hallways, they would find the hair of one of their fellow nuns strewn about in a mess, and although this was creepy, to be sure, there was no inherent harm in it, either. The nun whose hair had been cut would be a bit dazed and strangely absent after the incident, but once the hair started growing back, she'd be back to usual. Atleast, that was until one night.

Sister Delilah was the first one to wake up. She always had been sensitive to shifts in the atmosphere, and so, when she quietly stirred awake, her breath caught in her throat, her glazed eyes staring vacantly out into the dark, chilly night, she knew immediately that something was wrong. Very wrong. It was too dark to see anything of measure, the void of night permeating through the monetary like a thick, black ink. Her hands fumbled through the darkness, eventually grabbing hold of the little beeswax candle she kept by her bed since she woke up so often. But this was different.

Sitting up, sister Delilah grober through the darkness once more, searching for the little matchbox with a strange fervour she didn't know she had. She quickly fished out a single match and set it aflame, the little flickering light dancing voluptuously atop the small stick. With this small flame, sister Delilah could see a bit further into the room she shared with her fellow nuns. There wasn't much to see: a couple of beds, a bookcase, nothing of any real interest. She wanted to ask for the other nuns to come awake, sister Marie, sister Camilla, anyone, but her throat was dry and hoarse and she couldn't make the slightest noise and she didn't know why. When she attempted to speak, all that came from her voice was a small, almost unnoticeable whimper. Steeling her resolve, sister Delilah set the wick of her candle aflame, and watched the fire lick at the beeswax with the kind of passion only a flame can posses.

This light didn't illuminate the room much more than the single matchstick did, but it gave her a sort of resolve a temporary matchstick never would. Casting her blanket aside, she slowly stood up, her heart beating loudly in her chest. It felt like it could pop out at any moment! Gulping down her fears, Delilah quietly tip-toed over to the nearest bed, which happened to be owned by sister Gertrud, a stoic and brave woman of God who would surely know what to do. But when she cast a dim light over the bed, she found it curiously empty. Turning her attention to the bed of the kind and sweet sister Lena, she found it, once more empty. A sense of dread overtook Delilah, an unease quite unfamiliar to her welling up within her bowels. Clasping her hands together, she mumbled a prayer before deciding that she had to find out what was going on.

She had not accounted for how cold the monastery would be. She was only wearing her nightgown, after all, so to walk through the cold stone halls was definitely not a good idea, especially since it was november. They kept a fire going in the day, but at night like this, there was no reason to. It was a blanket or nothing. Tippy-tapping down the hall on her bare feet, Delilah started to wish she had atleast grabbed the blanket for comfort, but it was too late to turn back now, and even if she did, she wasn't sure if she would have the heart to continue down the halls.

Despite holding up her beeswax candle as far away from her body as she could, Delilah could barely see a thing, anything beyond three feet in front of her simply being a wall of black. She tried not to look over her shoulder, but it was hard when it was just as dark ahead of her as behind her. She was, in a word, terrified. Her voice still wouldn't work like she wanted it to, only being able to create a sharp exhale, when what she wanted was a shout.

Eventually, she noticed that she had reached the end of the hall, because down there, to the left, was the entrance to the church. It was connected to the monastery and the closter by two heavy wooden doors on either side of the altar at the very back of the church. These doors would usually be closed and locked during the night to prevent chastities between the nuns and priests, but at this time, Delilah noticed it was wide open, and eerie, multi-coloured light being cast onto the stone walls of the monastery. But this wasn't the only thing that set sister Delilah's teeth on edge and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There was a soft, melodic little sound accompanying the strange light, like the kind of rapping sound the branch of a tree makes against the window at night, or the soft sniffelings of a dying rat, it was… it sounded almost like giggling, but not quite. It was harsher, more unwilling, wrought forth not by the nasal pathways but instead of the deep, guttural throat, it was… a sob. A soul-wrenching, emotionally confused little sob.

Then she noticed another sound. It was almost completely unnoticeable, being like the mere drumming of a war-drum, drowned by the war-cries of thousands of soldier. But it was definitely there, like a hellish chorus chanting in a foreign language she couldn't understand. It was crackling, and roaring, and yet almost silent. Unable to keep her more curious inhibitions under control, Delilah creeped closer, keeping her thin body smushed up against the cobblestone walls to avoid detection by whoever opened the heavy oaken doors. Speaking of those doors… they hadn't exactly been opened. The heavy iron locks that kept it locked was smashed open, and the hinges keeping it stuck to the doorway was twisted in a strange way, but nevertheless far too close to collapse for comfort. But Delilah persisted, slowly poking her head out from the ripped-opened door.

Fire. Fire, fire, fire. So much fire. There was fire in the ceiling, fire in the walls, fire in the air and fire everywhere. She couldn't lay her eyes on anything that wasn't on fire-, except, yes, there, at the altar, there was something. At first, she thought it was an angel, with shimmering wings of fire and a halo of light, crouched down on its knees, its small hands clasped together in fervent prayer. This was where the sobs were coming from: the little angel. Interspersed with the sobs and weeps and sorrows, she could hear a prayer being mumbled. "Mommy why does it hurt-" "Mommy what did I do to deserve-" "Mommy where are you-" "Mommy do angels hurt-" "Mommy I'm scared." These childish whimperings cut through the muted roar of the flames, making sister Delilah realize with stunning clarity just what she was staring at. That was no angel. It was a devil.

The wings of fire were made of steel - sharp, pointed, bloody cold steel, as if somebody had taken countless scissors and forced them into the shape of wings - perverted the essence of an angel into an aspect of the devil. These wings protruded gruesomely from the bloodied gory back of a small boy, as if the wings had simply ripped out of his back with little tact or tone. That couldn't have been painless. And yet, she felt no remorse for the little false messenger of God, for her eyes had finally come to notice just what fetish the little devil was praying to: Sister Marie.

She was propped up on the large crucifix they kept by the altar, bloody scissor-blades stabbed into her arms and legs to keep her in the right shape and position. Her head was bare and bloody, it looked like somebody had rent every single strand of hair on her, ripping it out with the roots, leaving her head an extremely sorry sight. And yet, despite this undoubtedly agonizing treatment, the girl was as silent as a wooden Jesus, her head slumped over and her eyes closed, as if she was simply slumbering peacefully up there on the cross. If she was dead, then she had died peacefully, but that couldn't be, could it? Sister Marie couldn't be dead, could she?

But this was no time for doubting. The church was on fire, the devil was praying and sister Delilah could do nothing but stand and stare. She had to get out of there. Taking a step back, Delilah quickly came to realize her entire body was numb. Her legs wouldn't do what she told them, and with a soft thump, she fell to the floor. "A-, ah-," was the only sound she could make as her vision grew blurry her eyes grew teary. She heard it before she saw it. The boy had stopped sobbing. His head turned slowly towards her, his eyes were glowing green like a cat, his ears were pointed and a small, almost unnoticeable horn protruded from the side of his head. It was Fred. That young, sweet boy of God: a devil in human's clothes!

And now, that demon smiled at her, as if the death of it's "mother" and it's apparent sorrows had been but an illusion. It grin was crooked and malformed, it's teeth pointing in any which way, extending far beyond what any mere human could achieve. It creeped closer to her, it's grin growing wider, yet it's eyes somehow growing sadder, it's eyebrows scrunched together in an inexplicable sorrow, it's entire face being a paradox of sorts. It unnerved Delilah, and she couldn't react with anything but a little whimper. The fires seemed to be closing in on them, which was strange since it had been so muted and immobile before. She couldn't understand anything. Her vision grew blurrier and her entire body felt numb and tingly. She was so exhausted. She couldn't feel her body, and her tears were just streaming down, and everything was so bright and loud and Maria couldn't be dead but she was and everything was on fire and-,

She passed out. Aunt Delilah passed out. Why did aunt Delilah pass out? Had he done something wrong? Everything hurt-, his back hurt, his cheeks were so sore, his eyes were all dry-, had he been crying? No! He was a big boy, he wouldn't cry! Why would he cry? Mommy was alright, wasn't she? She would be, wouldn't she? He had just wanted to cut her hair and he had gotten a little carried away and maybe done some _naughty _things he shouldn't have, but that shouldn't have done anything, should it? B-, but if she really was-, like-, like Jesus had been, then-, she'd be alright now, wouldn't she? God wouldn't abandon him like this, would He?

Oh, but aunt Delilah! Dear, ditzy little aunt Delilah, you can't sleep here! Oh, no, you'll catch a cold! Or, worse, the Devil will get you! That's what mommy always said, anyhoo. Mommy will have to wait for a little while, because he had to carry Delilah back to her bed. Scooping her up into his arms, Fred made to leave the chapel, casting a sidelong glance over his shoulder at his dear beloved mother. She would be alright. In just a moment, she would open her eyes, and she would be all-right, just like Jesus!

Humming a little song mommy had taught him some years ago, Fred carried the dainty nun through the halls, apparently not noticing how the girl was at least twice his size, and this whole scenario was impossible and why had she seemed so scared and why had he set fire to the church he hadn't meant to do that the fire just came as if from the depths of hell but-,

Shh, shhh. Hush. Mommy's here. You don't need to worry about that. You'll be fine, my angel, you'll be fine.

Fred smiled. Yes, of course he would be. What had wings if not an angel?

Emerging from the burning church, Fred quickly found all the other faithful christians, all the nuns and all the priests, all but one. Sister Maria. She would not be coming out of that burning church any time soon, either. No, when Fred rejoined his family of God, he did so alone, sister Delilah trailing behind him in a daze. She was not quite sane. When the fire had died down and questions about what had happened started to rise, sister Delilah, strangely enough, pointed her finger at poor young little Fred, calling him a demon and a sinner and Satan in human form. And after the body of sister Marie had been uncovered, these allegations only turned more sour. The child, as expected, was incredibly confused and frightened by this name-shouting, unable to reply with anything but a sob in turn.

The church and monastery and everything were quickly rebuilt, but those that dwelled within these halls were far from jolly. The child had never wavered in his faith to God, but it was clear the incident had left an impression on him. He simply wouldn't stop smiling. And if one mentioned sister Marie near him, he would chronicle the fact that she would soon arise once more as Jesus had done, or that she was speaking to him from heaven, or something of the like. Sister Delilah had already been institutionalized, and having to send a child to such a place… it would have been too much. And so, the child continued living there, praying every morning and every night, and nevermore was there an incident wherein nuns woke up missing hair.

Well, maybe not _never…_


End file.
